That Weird Little MillicentFleur Ficlet
by Bridgie
Summary: Millicent Bulstrode discovers she has something in common with the Veela-girl. 5th-year AU, femslash.


Rating is for mediocre swearing and implied sex. Characters are copyright J.K. Rowling and whoever's bought merchandising rights from her. Pseudo-New-Age feminist commentary (don't get scared, there's not that much) is inspired by reading 'The Woman's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets' by Barbara Walker. I recommend it to the open-minded, with the precaution that there's something in it to offend just about everyone. But that's part of what makes it so fascinating.

This is a 5th-year AU ficlet, which I actually wrote before OotP came out. I'm just now getting up the courage to post it ::sheepish look::. I don't feel it's my best writing, but I'm enamored of the pairing. I hope to write a much longer Millicent/Fleur story, but I don't plan on posting any of it until it's mostly complete, as I've decided to try and be more punctual with updates. There won't be any more chapters to this, but when I do begin posting the other story, it will be titled 'Sang Froid'.

* * *

It's kind of disorienting, falling in love. I felt sure this would be the loneliest year of my life, since Pansy and I had that fight last year. She's turned all the other girls in our year against me, and most of the boys. If I apologized (groveled, really), she would probably forgive me, and let the other Slytherins be friends with me again. But I'm not going to. She is a bitch.

She thought it was so funny when Rita Skeeter wrote that godawful story about Hagrid being half-giant. Do you know, she made fun of him, hiding in his hut because of all those threat letters? I'm not a big fan of Hagrid, but I didn't think it was amusing at all. He can't help who his mother was any more than I can.

My mother was a hag, in case you were wondering.

No, I don't mean it like an insult. The word comes from Greek, _hagios_, holy. People used to worship hags, long ago. They were symbols of wisdom, and personifications of Winter and time and death; the Doomsday Crone. Have you ever seen pictures of the Sheela-na-Gig? Gray-haired and wrinkled, with withered breasts and a wide laughing grin on her face? Sometimes her teeth are sharp. Always she's depicted with her hands between her thighs, holding her labia apart, vulva wide open, like a gateway into the beyond, as if saying, 'This is where you came from; this is where are going to return'. Sex and age and death.

I think she's beautiful. My mother was beautiful, too. Her hair was streaked white and gray, and her eyes were black as cinders. Her skin was white and wrinkly like tissue. She was fat, and it looked good on her. I look a little like her, big-boned and meaty and heavy, with large hands and a jutting jaw and mean, sharp little eyes. My skin is smooth, though, like a young girl's should be.

My dad never remarried after Mum was killed by those fucking Aurors. He loved her so much. He didn't care what she looked like, just that she was wise and funny and could peel the scales off a dragon's ass with just words. Damn, I wish I could swear like she did. She never taught me before she died. She never taught me to be beautiful, either. I don't think I'm pretty at all. I feel awkward because I don't look like a hag or a human. If I were just one or the other, it would be okay.

My dad is a pureblood wizard, mind you, and since there's no Muggle in me, a genealogist would have to count me as one, too. I guess that's why the Sorting Hat let me go to Slytherin. Sometimes I wish it hadn't. None of the other Slytherins know I'm half-hag. They're not going to find out, either, not after the things they've said behind Hagrid's back. Spoiled little shit-spawned asslicking motherfuckers (see, that's just mediocre swearing--I'll never be truly great at it!), they don't have a clue what it's like.

Anyway…what I started out to say was that I thought I was going to be really lonely this year. But then She came back.

She was here for the Triwizard Tournament last year. I didn't think she'd ever be back afterwards, after that horrible mess and that Hufflepuff boy that died and Perfect Potter gone all quiet and traumatized. But she returned to be Professor Flitwick's assistant in Charms, and to learn to speak English better. Not sure why she'd want to do that; I like French just fine. But whatever. The point is, she came back.

I think my eyes almost popped out of my head when she sashayed in to the Charms room, all dressed in violet robes and with little white pearls woven into her silvery-blonde hair. She looked like an angel.

I knew she was part-veela. I'd known since she arrived last year, same as I knew Hagrid and Madame Maxime were half-giant. There's this little tingle in your spine that tells you when you're in the presence of another part-human. (I thought there was something funny about Professor Lupin, too, although a werewolf or vampire is harder to tell, because they're born all-human.) I couldn't remember her name. She had spent most of her time with the Ravenclaws before. I had only ever thought of her as the veela-girl. Luckily she introduced herself.

"Een case you do not remember me, my name ees Fleur Delacoeur," she said, "And I weel be 'elping you with your Charms work zis year."

Goddess, what a great accent.

Flitwick did most of the lecturing, same as usual, but when we paired up to try practical application of the cooling charm, Fleur went around to each pair, giving us pointers. I got stuck with one of the Hufflepuffs, as usual. Ernie something-or-other. He was all shifty and nervous, like he thought I was going to hurt him. I kind of enjoyed it. I've discovered I'm extremely intimidating when I don't smile, so I've gotten into the habit of staying stone-faced and watching whoever I'm with squirm. I had trouble keeping up the poker face when Fleur came over to us, though. Something about her just made me want to grin from ear to ear. (Note to self: Find out if veela make extra pheromones).

Ernie was basically incompetent at the cooling charm, though I hear he's not bad usually. Fleur had to help him with everything from the grip on his wand to his pronunciation of the cantrip. He was bright red by the time she was through with him, but he managed to give me a few goosebumps. With his cooling charm, I mean. I don't like boys that way.

Then it was my turn to try. Did I mention that hags are personifications of winter? I've always had an affinity for that which is cold and still. I tried to hold back, but I overdid it a bit, anyway. Luckily for Ernie, I aimed low, because otherwise he might have learned a new meaning to the term 'blue balls'.

It took Flitwick and Fleur about ten minutes to thaw his feet enough to unstick them from the floor. Then Fleur walked him to the hospital wing. She gave me a speculative look on the way out. I thought it was just my imagination at the time, but I've since learned that the wheels were indeed turning in her brain.

I didn't see her again until the weekend. Most of the students were out by the lake, enjoying the last of the summer weather (well, they were enjoying; I was just tolerating), and Hagrid was playing fetch with that monstrous dog of his.

Pansy looked over at him and said to Draco, "He seems to be in high spirits. I suppose he's doing well with Madame Maxime."

Draco leered, "Wonder how many beds they've broken?"

"Eurgh! You're foul!" she smacked him playfully, "Anyway, aren't half-breeds sterile? I know mules are."

I had to bite my tongue hard.

"Just because they're sterile doesn't mean they're impotent," he grinned, evidently gleaning sadistic pleasure out of her wince of disgust.

"Oh, stop! That's almost as bad as imagining how they were conceived in the first place!"

"On a stepladder, I expect."

I tasted blood.

Pansy laughed, "They must have all been pretty drunk, don't you think?"

"Undoubtedly. Still, that's no excuse." Draco wrinkled his pointed little aristocratic nose.

"You're right. It should be against the law, like having sex with animals. It's almost the same thing."

"Parkinson," I growled, "How is it you're avoiding suffocation with your head so far up your arse?"

Draco smirked, "What's your problem, Bulstrode?"

"Oh," said Pansy, barely ruffled, "Millie's the Half-Breed's advocate. Hadn't you heard?"

"Bugger off," I said, wishing more than ever that my mother had taught me to swear. "You don't know what you're talking about, either of you. And don't fucking call me 'Millie'."

"Maybe she has a giant fetish," Malfoy suggested, as if he hadn't heard me.

Pansy giggled.

"I'd rather fuck a giant than either of you two," I told them, getting up to walk away. "And with all the inbreeding in your families, you two are the last people with any right to make fun of someone's sexual practices."

That got them. Draco went white, and Pansy stood up and pulled out her wand with a shriek, "You take that back!"

"The hell I will."

"Put zat away, Miss Parkinson," a familiar voice commanded. "Or I weel take points. I am on staff now, you know, I can do zat." It was Fleur.

Pansy glowered a moment, then reluctantly shoved the wand back in her pocket.

"Miss Bulstrode, you will come with me please," the sun reflected off her golden hair, making a glowy kind of halo.

I nodded dumbly and followed her, trying to keep my eyes off her backside, with little success. Instead of walking me to the castle to complain to Professor Snape about the fight I'd started, she led me to the eaves of the forest and sat down, patting a tuffet of grass next to her. "'ave a seat."

I folded my legs under me and sat down, hunching over a little defensively and peering at her furtively from under my bangs. "You going to take points?"

"Madame Maxime is like a second mother to me," Fleur answered, "You defended 'er. No, I am not taking points. I only 'ave a question."

Anticipating the question already, I said, "Yes, I'm half-hag."

She nodded, "I thought so. No one else knows, no?"

"No one except Dumbledore."

"I weel not tell." She leaned against a tree and looked up at the sky. "It is not easy, being different."

I didn't say anything for a moment, then I asked, "Even for you?"

She raised her eyebrows at me. "'Ow do you mean 'even for me'?"

"Well…you're part veela. But people think veela are beautiful. You can't really mock someone for wanting to sleep with a veela."

"You would be surprised. You 'ave not seen me really lose my temper."

"What happens then?"

"Claws and wings 'appen," she sighed. "Last year, in ze tournament, zat was part of why I lost ze second Task. Grindylows attacked me. I lost my temper and my wings came out. Zey weighted me down so I could not swim. I killed ze grindylows, but I still almost drowned."

"Shit," I observed sympathetically.

She smiled a little. "And you 'ave not seen a full-blood veela, 'ave you?"

I shook my head.

She sighed wistfully, "My grandmother is so beautiful…so graceful. Next to 'er I feel ugly and clumsy. She does not age. I met 'er once. She offered me a choice: to stay in ze world of humans, with my parents, or to become immortal, like 'er, and be young and beautiful forever."

"And you chose to stay?"

"Like my mother before me, yes. I love my family. My world. I am 'ere to fight for it."

Beautiful and brave. I think I fell in love with her right then. But then I remembered what I was. "Aurors killed my mother. Just because she was a hag."

"I am sorry. That is very wrong…"

"I mean, some of them do attack and eat children, but she never did. Do you think they'd kill me if they knew I was half-hag?"

She shrugged, "I do not know. I 'ope not. But zere is always prejudice."

"Against veela, too?"

She laughed a little bitterly. "I 'ave 'ad so many boys and men turn on me because zey were afraid…if they begin to like me too much, it is of course because I am part veela and zey cannot 'elp it. And if a teacher old enough to be my father tries to touch me in places he should not, of course it is my fault because I am part veela and he could not 'elp 'imself…"

"That happened to you? Where? Not here??"

"No. I went to a smaller magic school before I came to Beauxbatons. It 'appened there."

Good, I thought, I'd hate to have to kill one of the Hogwarts' faculty. "I'm…sorry…"

She shrugged it off. "It is over now. Anyway…I wanted you to know you are not alone. We are very much alike, Millicent." She placed her hand on my shoulder, making me feel warm all over, and I smiled at her.

I don't smile at many people.

We talked a little longer about nothing in particular, and when we parted to go inside, she promised we'd talk again sometime. 'Sometime' turned out to be just about every day after lessons were over. We sat in the grass outside, watching clouds, or in the astronomy tower, or we wandered the halls together, just talking. We got a lot of funny looks, but Fleur didn't seem to care, so I didn't either. And at some point we started walking hand-in-hand when no one was looking.

Well, I was a virgin, but hags are sexual creatures, almost as sexual as veela. So you can imagine where this all went. We always meet in the forest. It's called the Forbidden Forest, and most of what we do there is forbidden. It's quite convenient. Neither of us minds the cold or the damp, and both of us agree that dead leaves feel better under our backs than silken sheets. Sometimes we dance together in the nighttime rain.

I like it when she lets her wings and claws out. She was afraid to show them to me the first time, which I thought was silly, because she certainly wasn't shy about getting naked. Her wings are smaller and paler than a full-blood veela's. I think they're lovely. Her claws are short, but sharp. They prick like needles where she clutches at my hips and thighs, and sometimes I come away with little pink, raised scratches. Sometimes she comes away with bite marks under her breasts.

We're keeping things secret until I graduate, so Fleur doesn't lose her job. Well, we're keeping it a secret at school, at least. We're going to tell my father this summer, because I know he'll be happy for me. She's already written to her family. We may portkey over to see them soon. I hope they like me, and that's weird, because normally I don't give a shit who does and doesn't like me.

I feel like she wakes up a part of me that I almost didn't realize was there. I feel older and stronger and more powerful. I feel like laughter and life and death and autumn leaves. I love her. I love her.

It's extremely disorienting. I think I like it.

* * *

Thanks for reading. I'm aware the swearing isn't very British. If any reader has suggestions of substitute words, please leave them in review. Yes, please swear at me in review. Wait, does allow that…? 


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